Erin Quinn uses the language of childhood games to speak about serious things: extraction, collapse, complicity. Their sculptural and print-based works draw viewers in through playful familiarity—bead mazes, board games, bright colors—only to confront them with harder truths. Who benefits from the rules we live by? What gets sacrificed in the name of progress? What happens when the game is rigged?

Quinn draws on the structure of games to explore the tragedy of the commons: limited resources, shared stakes, and players acting in self-interest. In a board game, rules create an illusion of fairness. In the real world, those rules are constantly rewritten by those in power. Environmental crises are not random or inevitable—they are engineered, ignored, and exploited. Quinn transforms these realities into metaphor and interaction, often inviting the viewer to become a player in the work. This act of participation is not neutral; it asks us to reckon with our roles in systems of harm and our potential for change.

Their practice is grounded in rigorous research and a deep engagement with place. Quinn walks the land, collects materials—plastic, sediment, debris—and assembles them with care. Each object holds memory, residue, and warning. These are not just aesthetic choices; they are artifacts of a world in crisis.

At its core, Quinn’s work is a call to accountability. By turning play into a site of inquiry, they challenge us to reflect on what we’ve inherited and imagine what we might build instead. Their work insists that we are not powerless. We are participants, witnesses, and potential agents of change.

In Quinn’s hands, the game becomes a mirror. And in that mirror, we begin to see the future we’re shaping—and the one we still have time to rewrite.